Pete's Expert Summary
My human has presented me with a plastic, hinged contraption from a brand called LeapFrog, which I understand manufactures noisy items to placate small, loud humans. This "book" is supposed to teach them 100 words by having them poke at pictures of things like animals, food, and colors. Frankly, the concept is insulting to my superior intellect. I know the words for "tuna," "salmon," "now," and "that spot behind my ears," which is a far more useful vocabulary. However, the fact that the pages respond to touch is mildly intriguing. The potential to command sounds with a simple extension of my paw might offer a brief, fleeting distraction from the critical business of shedding on the dark upholstery. The light-up star is, I admit, shiny.
Key Features
- Meet learning friends Turtle, Tiger and Monkey who will introduce more than 100 age-appropriate words chosen by learning experts
- Word categories include: pets, animals, food, mealtime, colors, activities, opposites, outside and more
- Touching the words on the pages plays the words, sound effects and fun facts; hear the Learning Friends theme song and My Favorite Word by pressing the light-up star button
- Words, songs and instructions can be heard in both English and Spanish for a full bilingual experience
- Intended for ages 18+ months; requires 2 AA batteries; batteries included for demo purposes only; new batteries recommended for regular use. Product Dimensions: 9.4" wide x 9.2" height x 1.9" depth
A Tale from Pete the Cat
The thing arrived in a box that was, for a few hours, far more interesting than its contents. But after the human extracted the green and white plastic slab and bestowed it upon the small, wobbly one, my interest was piqued by the cacophony. From my perch atop the sofa, I watched the tiny tyrant jab at it, eliciting tinny barks and irritatingly cheerful music. My initial assessment: a piece of loud, offensive junk destined to be covered in drool. I closed my eyes, feigning a nap, but my ears swiveled, cataloging the simplistic vocabulary. "Dog." "Ball." "Apple." Utterly pedestrian. Later that night, the house fell into its usual slumbering silence. The plastic book lay abandoned on the rug, a faint chemical scent hanging in the air. I descended from the sofa, my paws making no sound on the hardwood, and circled the object like a miniature gray shark. I sniffed its plastic spine. Nothing. I nudged it with my nose. It was cold and unyielding. Was this it? This was the source of the day's fascination? With a sigh of profound disappointment, I extended a single, perfect claw and deliberately pressed the large, light-up star. A blast of chipper music assaulted my ears. I recoiled, my tuxedo-white chest fluff bristling with indignation. A lesser creature would have fled. I, however, am Pete. This was no longer idle curiosity; it was a matter of principle. I would conquer this noisy rectangle. I ignored the star and placed my paw with scientific precision on a picture of a yellow bird. "Bird," the book chirped, followed by a synthetic tweeting sound. I flattened my ears. Unrealistic. I tapped the picture of a fish. "Fish," it declared, accompanied by a cartoonish 'bloop' sound. An outrage. Fish do not 'bloop.' They smell divine and flake perfectly in a bowl. I found the picture of the cat. I braced myself. "Cat," the disembodied voice announced, followed by a mew so pathetic, so utterly devoid of nuance or authority, that I felt a deep, personal offense. For the next hour, I conducted a thorough and systematic analysis. I discovered that a small slider changed the language, a fact that provided a momentary spark of academic interest. "Perro." "Gato." How exotic. I learned I could create a truly chaotic symphony by dragging my paw across an entire page of animals. A cow mooed, a pig oinked, a monkey chattered. It was a mess, but it was *my* mess. I was the maestro of this plastic menagerie. The content was an insult, a gross oversimplification of a complex and beautiful world. But the interface... the simple, direct power of placing a paw and commanding a response? I must admit, it has its charms. It is not a toy. It is a primitive console, and I am its master. It may remain. For now.